Inman Park Festival: A Celebration Reborn

Lyrics

It always starts this way.
The last Saturday in April.
The air smells like rain and new leaves.
And we turn the key.
And open the door.

Before this, there was another smell.
Damp plaster in a house with no one home.
The quiet on Elizabeth Street was a threat.
A shadow of I-485, a concrete scar,
waiting to tear us in two.
We heard the rumble.
We saw the signs.

Robert Griggs said, "We have no money."
"But we have people."
Frances said, "Let them see the houses."
"Let them fall in love."
So in April, seventy-two,
just a picnic, really.
A glorified yard sale on the lawn.
Hoping someone, anyone, would come inside.

And now the doors are open all down the street.
The porches are stages, the park is a heart.
White canvas tents bloom on the asphalt.
The smell of barbecue over the ghost of the freeway.
This is the sound of a neighborhood breathing.
This is the life that love bought.

A fiddle plays in Springvale.
A potter spins clay by the Trolley Barn.
Strangers share a blanket on the grass.
And every house, with its gingerbread trim,
remembers the paint, the plaster, the hammers.
Remembers the hands that were determined.
That refused to let it fall.

And I think about that first key, turning in that first lock.
That simple, terrifying act of invitation.
Believing that beauty was enough.
Believing that community was a fortress.
It was never just about the houses, was it?
It was about this. Right here.

And now the doors are open all down the street!
The porches are stages, the park is a heart!
White canvas tents bloom on the asphalt!
The smell of barbecue over the ghost of the freeway!
This is the sound of a neighborhood breathing!
This is the life that love bought!

The last Saturday in April.
The air is warm.
Soon, we'll close the door.
And be home.